


Akin

by FairyRose11



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: M/M, References to Homophobia, Spoilers for episode 110: Matryoshka, references to mental illness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-17
Updated: 2017-07-17
Packaged: 2018-12-03 13:45:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11533470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FairyRose11/pseuds/FairyRose11
Summary: Carlos gets an invitation to have dinner at his parents's house. Historically, Carlos hasn't exactly fit in well with the rest of his family, but maybe this time will be different. Or maybe it will be dreadful. Either way, it'll be an experience.





	Akin

 

_Hi Carlos,_

_No doubt you’re surprised to hear from me. I’m sorry it’s been so long. This is going to seem sudden, but Vicente and Teresa are going to come over for dinner this Friday, and I was talking about it with Teresa, and she said, “You know, I wish Carlos was going to be there.” And I said, “I’m going to ask him.” So here I am, inviting you over for dinner this Friday, with all of us. Your dad, your brother, your sister, and me._

_I’m sure you’re probably immersed in some great scientific discovery or sitting in your laboratory pondering the universe for hours on end, so it might be a while before you get this email. If this reaches you before Friday, please tell me if you’re going to be visiting, and I can make sure I have enough food for you._

_I’m not trying to pressure you, I’m done with that, but I would really love to see you. I know your dad feels the same._

_Anyway, hope you’re happy._

_Love, Mamá_

Carlos removed his safety goggles in order to get a closer look from the screen.

Yes, it was definitely from _his_ mother. Or at least, the email address was the one he remembered. After calculating the probability of there being a different woman who had the same email address as his mother, plus three children with the same names as Carlos and his siblings, allowing for the possibility that Carlos might have been misremembering his mother’s email address, Carlos was forced to conclude that it was far more likely that this really was from his mom and she really had contacted him.

For the first time in a year. Had it been a year? Carlos often lost track, given the amount of time it usually took for communication from the outside world to reach Night Vale. He was surprised that he had gotten this email nearly a week before Friday. He half-wished it had arrived too late.

This being Night Vale, Carlos ran the probability test again. He also skimmed the news to make sure that there had been no reported cases of hacking, identity theft, or doppelgangers in the past few weeks. But as far as Carlos could find, the only hacking being done had been a part of the Secret Police’s daily search, and Carlos could not come up with a decent reason as to why a member of the Sheriff's Secret Police would impersonate his mother.

Carlos put the goggles back on and looked at the screen again. It had become slightly more blurry, and so therefore more comforting. He sighed. The sensation of air pushed out of his lungs caused the tension in the rest of body to ease up, so he sighed again. 

“Is something wrong?” asked Cecil, who had caught the second of the sighs as he entered the room. Cecil was carrying a bowl of cheerios, and a spoon. He often complained about Carlos getting so wrapped up in his science that eating became a vague concept on the distant horizon, so Cecil made it his mission that Carlos remembered to keep himself nourished during the times when they both were home.

Cecil had work in an hour, and Carlos appreciated the gesture of the cereal.

“Thank you, honey,” he said distractedly, words managing to convey about 70% of his gratitude. Cecil seemed fine with that. Carlos took the spoon, and ate a couple of bites before he added, “My mom just emailed me.”

“Oh. Wow, that is...is it good? You’ve never talked very much about your mother. Or for that matter, anyone in your family.”

Carlos waved a hand at the screen. “Well, I have the opportunity to see my family. This Friday, I mean. Not this instant. That would be scientifically unlikely, unless I used a teleportation device. Which I totally do not have,” he added for the benefit of any secret agents eavesdropping on the conversation.

Cecil paused and looked Carlos in the eye. Or tried to. Carlos glanced away, because he had the feeling that prolonged eye contact would inevitably lead to hour of talking, processing, and analysing. Normally, those were some of Carlos’s favorite things, but not when they might make Cecil late for work.

 The alternative was that Carlos would have to mumble that he didn’t feel like discussing his family right then, and Cecil would be supportive and nod, but there would be this new tension as Cecil discreetly attempted to solve the puzzle of Carlos’s complicated familial relationships.

Carlos glanced away. Cecil placed a hand on his shoulder, stroking gently until Carlos’s tension ebbed.

“I’ll be back in a minute.” Cecil left to get dressed, and Carlos observed that under ordinary circumstances, he would have lectured Cecl about how the phrase “in a minute” was scientifically inaccurate.

His computer screen had gone dark. Carlos refreshed it and studied the message again.

“Would you like to see your parents?” Cecil asked, upon re-entering the room.

“It’s my older brother and sister too,” Carlos murmured. “I honestly do not remember the last time I spoke to them. My mamá emailed me a year ago, mostly to tell me about her last vacation and her new friends, but I haven’t seen her or my dad in person for...seven years?”

He didn’t look up, but he knew Cecil was frowning, because he knew Cecil. “Just how terrible are they?”

Carlos was startled. “They’re not terrible. Well, it’s all relative. Dad is terrible. Mamá is somewhat terrible. My brother and sister are all right. It’s like you and Steve Carlsberg. My siblings and I, we never saw the world in the same way.”

Carlos stared pensively into space, as if the empty air would support his argument. Of course, as all scientists know, air is an indifferent force and therefore it is no use asking it for help. “It is possible that my parents have changed over the years. Most things change, during the passing of years and all of the potentially formative events that those years bring. I wonder what my brother and sister are like now. It would be nice to see them.” This last sentence was spoken in a voice that was unintentionally wistful.

Cecil took a minute to ponder all of this while he tied his tie. Carlos took a minute to admire his husband; Cecil was wearing a shiny silver bodysuit, and it hugged his frame in a way that left little to the imagination.

“Then you should go visit,” Cecil said finally. “I mean, don’t let me make up your mind for you. This kind of thing should be entirely your decision, and should not be subject to outside pressures or opinions. All I am saying is that if you want to see your family now, then you should feel comfortable doing so, regardless of whatever decisions you may have made in the past.”

“I didn’t make any decisions. I just left one day. Or they left me. Honestly, it was really ambiguous and I am still trying to figure out who metaphorically dropped who. The way I understand it, my parents never asked to meet with me again until now. And I always had an excuse to avoid asking them. I got _really_ good at excuses.”

Cecil rubbed the back of Carlos’s hand soothingly. “Would it make everything better if I went with you?”

“No,” Carlos said, so quickly that he blushed and Cecil went still. “I mean. It sounds like it’s only supposed to be my parents, my brother, and my sister. Nothing was said about partners, so I assume it is more of a quiet, intimate family reunion thing. Not that I wouldn’t love for you to come.” Worried that he’d put doubt in Cecil’s mind, Carlos stood and finally made eye contact. “I _would_ love it if you came with me. But if I am really going to do this, I think it’s one of those things, the ones that I made up some sciency label for a while back. That label isn’t coming to mind now, but it’s one of those special things that I just need to do myself.”

“Of course. I understand.”

_Do you?_ Carlos thought worriedly. _Do you really?_ He wasn’t sure how much he wanted Cecil to understand.

*

But Cecil seemed okay with letting the issue drop, and somehow they went a couple of days without talking about it. This was probably due to the recent invasion small, sparrow-like birds, which resembled sparrows in all of the usual ways, but did not resemble sparrows in the way of sound. Which was to say that the sparrows flew overhead singing dour lullabies in English, or occasionally in Russian. Nobody would have cared, except the songs mostly involved cannibalism, treachery, and various embarrassing secrets belonging to Night Vale citizens.

Carlos tried all of the scientific strategies he could think of to coax the birds out of town. In the end, Mayor Cardinal simply lured them into the dog park, with promises of a municipal response to their gruesome demands. Carlos had ordered a great quantity of birdseed and fresh meat, which he and his team of scientists tossed inside the gates of the park. The birds flew inside the dog park, intent on their meal. They never flew back out.

From that point on, everyone went back to ignoring the dog park, speaking loudly about totally unrelated topic so as to distract the hooded figures.

 *

It was on Wednesday when Carlos told Cecil, “I’m going to visit my parents.”

“Sounds great,” Cecil replied, in a voice that suggested he had spent the last few days considering every which way that this visit could go wrong, but that he also didn’t feel it was his place to contradict Carlos with regards to a family that Cecil had never met.

“It’s a long car ride. I might spend the night. But I promise I will be back on Saturday.”

“You don’t have to rush. I mean, I’m sure your family wants to be with you for as long as possible. I have the privilege of seeing you every day. If you choose to stay through the weekend, or even into the week, that’s fine by me.”

“I’ll be back on Saturday,” Carlos repeated. Cecil peered at him.

“Whatever works for you.” He sat on the couch, and then added, “It’s not that I am worried you won’t come back.”

Carlos sat next to Cecil, and said softly, “I told you that what happened with the Desert Otherworld would never happen again. I love you. I want to be with you. I am not going to get trapped outside of Night Vale again, or distracted, again.”

“I _told you_ , I’m not worried about that. I trust you. I am just...I know how complicated family can be, okay? I’ve told you about my mother, and how tense it used to be between Abby and me. I hope that your reunion is pleasant. Perhaps it will be better than that, but...dear Carlos, every time we discuss this, you look frightened. I don’t know if it’s the anxiety that comes with reacquainting oneself with one’s past, or if you’re feeling something more. I _do_ know that I don’t want you to get hurt. Especially not because of something I advised you to do. Please talk to me.”

Cecil let Carlos lean on his shoulder. “I really do want to see them. But I never...I am a scientist, Cecil. This is not just my official title, or a description of the work that I do. It’s who I am. My parents thought I was too consumed with science for my own good. They would have rathered that I pursued a different path in life.”

He breathed out, long and trembling. “And they didn’t really like...other things about me, as well.” Carlos touched Cecil’s chest for emphasis.

“And you’re sure you’d like to do this?”

“I think it would be good for me.” Carlos paused, and then said, “Actually, that was not accurate. I have no clue whether or not this will be good for me. I just know that I want to.”

“All right. I’ll respect that. Though in my professional opinion, if your parents don’t appreciate you, then they’re complete morons. Or soulless librarians in disguise.”

“Aw, thanks, Boo.”

“You’re welcome, Bunny.”

*

Friday morning, Carlos packed overnight clothes, his “casual” labcoat, a water bottle, some trail mix, and his lab equipment, because a scientist is always on the job.

“Have a good time,” Cecil told him, cheerful for Carlos’s sake. He wrapped his arms around Carlos, who shivered, just once. “Say hi to your parents for me. Or don’t. Only if your conversation reaches the point where you are comfortable doing that.”

“Thank you, Ceec. Say hello to Night Vale for me. I hate missing your show.”

Cecil waved his hand dismissively. “You’ve heard plenty of them.”

“I never get tired of them.” Carlos kissed Cecil fiercely, wishing at first that he didn’t feel so much like he was marching off to war.

However, he was soon distracted by the warmth of Cecil’s mouth, the smoky scent of his cologne, the feel of his shoulders under Carlos’s hands.

_It doesn’t matter what happens with my family. I’ve got a new family here. Cecil, and Janice, and Abby, and yes, Steve. And Cecil._

_And science._

“Love you, hon.”

“I love you,” Cecil said back, his rich voice so sincere that Carlos had to kiss him again.

*

When Carlos finally hit the road, ten minutes later than planned (one of his mandates used to be, “a scientist is always timely,” but he had loosened up since his discovery that time didn’t work in Night Vale), he was struck by a sense of the surreal.

Not that he wasn’t entirely used to that feeling, but this was different. He was driving out of town. He had never driven out of town before. He had spent a year in a desert Otherworld, but that was the result of a terrible error in judgement. He had never driven a car out of Night Vale voluntarily.

Whatever happened, he figured, would constitute a very interesting experiment.

Carlos ran over the facts in his head. This was an exercise which applied to all scientific fields, and was often a precursor to the hypothesis (always an exciting part of any project).

The very fact that his mother had contacted him told Carlos that his own circumstances were very different from those of former Intern Kareem. Carlos recalled the segment of Cecil’s show wherein Kareem had gotten Cecil to relate the strange conversations that he’d had with those on the outside world. At first, when he called home, it seemed that he’d been replaced in his parent’s house by an identical doppelganger, but when he actually went home to Michigan (“MiSH-i-gan,” Carlos had patiently told Cecil, only for Cecil to flail about in frustration and mutter “Mitch-i-gan” under his breath), it was as if he’d never left. As if there was only one Kareem.

And _then_ Kareem had started to forget about Night Vale.

Carlos wasn’t going to forget about Night Vale. He’d spent all of the previous day writing notes, collecting old journals, data that he’d gathered from various projects, pictures of himself and Cecil, everything he could find that stood for the life he’d built in Night Vale.

Also, he planned on quizzing himself, every hour or so of the drive. It might be excessive, but Carlos wasn’t going to take any chances.

Looking past his deep-seated fear that he would somehow be robbed of everything which he had come to love, Carlos was pretty interested to see how this all played out. Yes, the scientist as the test subject was not ideal, but on the other hand, when had he ever gotten to _be_ the experiment? When would he ever get another chance? Just that thought sent a surge of adrenaline through him.

It was better than obsessively worrying about what he would say when he saw Mamá and Dad. Carlos swallowed back that particular fear, and told himself _you’ve got approximately six hours. What is a better use of your time than worrying about possibilities which might never be?_

_Listen to music and consider the ways in which different notes affect the body in different ways. Evaluate the DNA and relative sentience of every organism that you pass on the highway. That’s_ so _much more enjoyable than worrying._

 *

Two hours later, Carlos was trying not to panic. None of the roads made sense to him. It had been too long since he’d driven in a place outside of Night Vale.

“Turn left on Rainbow Road,” the robotic GPS voice instructed him.

“Who names these places?” Carlos muttered, jerkily turning down that road. “SHIT!” There was too much traffic. The car behind him was getting close. Too close. What had happened to the Sheriff's Secret Police officers showing up and shaking their fists menacingly at tailgaters?

A massive truck was passing. Another person honked their horn. Carlos changed lanes. There were too many lanes. Everyone was going too fast, on account of this road lacking in bizarre objects meant to slow traffic.

Carlos waited until it was safe and then he pulled over on the side of the road. He sat there for a few minutes, breathing hard.

“I’m fine. This is all fine. A scientist is always fine. I’m just not used to the outside world, that’s all. Everything’s really okay.

Totally.”

Carlos got back on the road, humming the periodic table song to himself until he felt normal again.

*

Five hours into his drive, Carlos thought about the last time he’d seen his older sister. They had talked about thermodynamics, and Teresa’s latest boyfriend. Well, Carlos had talked about thermodynamics, and Teresa had talked about her boyfriend.

He thought about the last time he had seen his older brother. Vicente had gruffly told him to “take care of himself.” Then he’d ruffled Carlos’s hair and walked away.

*

Carlos decided that all roads were actually sentient and conspiring to break him, for reasons incomprehensible to humans. Then he decided that that was ridiculous, and bad science because science should never be based on assumptions. He made up his mind to grab samples from the highway on his ride back.

Six hours and thirty-seven minutes since he’d left Night Vale, Carlos pulled into his parent’s driveway.

“Never again,” he muttered to himself, and immediately considered the inaccuracy of that phrase, percentage-wise.

This house was new to him. His mother had mentioned two years ago that she and his father had moved, and given Carlos her new address.  The house was a soft, mint green. The color reminded him of some samples he’d taken last week. Carlos approached the house cautiously, and knocked.

Nobody answered.

He knocked again. The bell appeared to be broken. “Mamá?” he called. “Dad?”

He could imagine Cecil narrating this moment: _Carlos, dear Carlos, was last seen knocking on his parent’s front door, a his face a mixture of uncertainty, resentment, and anticipation. He waited there for several long, painful minutes, before throwing up his hands in a movement that roughly translates to “Well, that’s that.” Then he returned to his car, hardly bothering to disguise his relief._

The door swung open, and Carlos lept back to avoid being hit.

“ _Carlitos_! Oh my God, come in!” Teresa cried. Behind her, he caught sight of his father in the hallway.

“Carlos,” Dad said, grinning or grimacing, it was difficult to say which.

“Hi,” Carlos squeaked. Teresa beamed.

“I’ve missed you,” she said fiercely.

“I’ve missed you too.” And oddly, he meant it, though he had barely thought about her for over a year. Not since he and Cecil had been planning their wedding.

_“Do you want to invite anyone on your side of the family?” Cecil asked._

_“No need,” Carlos replied simply._

He pulled back and stared at his sister. “Come on,” she said, taking by the hand and pulling him into the living room. She was an inch taller than Carlos, though he was by many standards considered tall. She wore the same dark lipstick that she’d worn as a young adult; Carlos did not know what that meant.

“It’s good to have you,” Dad said.

“It’s _great_ to be here,” Carlos lied.

“What have you been up to?” Teresa asked.

“Oh. Research. Studying. Writing lots of notes and then trying to make sense of it all. The usual.”

“The _usual_. I haven’t seen you in over six _years_. What’s usual for you now?”

His brother and Mamá were waiting for them all in the living room. Vicente smiled when he saw Carlos.

Carlos had never been good at reading his brother’s moods, or for that matter, anyone’s moods. Vicente might have been smiling happily. He might have been smiling cautiously. He might have needed an appropriate shape to mold his face into while he examined his younger brother.

“Carlos!” Mamá cried, and then she solemnly held out her hand for him to shake, in a gesture that seemed to contradict her tone of voice.

Carlos hesitated. He stood there for several beats longer than he should have, before deciding to ignore the hand entirely and give his mother a hug. She seemed very surprised, but she did hug him back. She still wore that rose-scented perfume. Carlos remembered that perfume from his childhood, tinged with great love and equally great disappointment.

“Hola, Mamá.”

“It’s good to see you,” Vicente muttered, and once Carlos was done hugging Mamá, Vicente patted him on the back and grinned again. His teeth were as white and as straight as Carlos’s, or at least as good as Cecil always professed Carlos’s teeth to be.

Carlos was getting an uncomfortable feeling in the pit of his stomach. All the touching, and the new lines on everyone’s faces, and the noises his family made as they moved in the small, small room, each of these things was coming together in one overpowering, suffocating amalgamation. He wished that he’d brought his clipboard with him; taking notes on the exact range of his emotions would make him feel calm. Typing notes into his phone was not as soothing as the _scritch scratch_ of a forbidden writing utensil along a paper surface.

He also wished that he’d brought Cecil along. Cecil was better at talking than he was.

“It’s great that we’re all here,” Vicente said uncertainly. Their dad nodded, face serene. It was possible that Dad didn’t have the capacity to experience fear.

“Sit,” Mamá said, voice brooking no room for argument. “Carlos, Dad and I have been hearing about Teresa and Vicente’s lives for the last two hours. I think we all want to know what’s going on with you.”

“You...do?”

Everyone nodded enthusiastically. Carlos was just baffled.

“You have gray in your hair,” Vicente whispered. He stared off into the distance. Carlos recognized his stance; it was the way citizens of Night Vale stood as they looked into the empty sky and contemplated the vastness of time. Carlos decided that it was best not to acknowledge this statement.

“Dinner’s ready, if you’re hungry,” Dad said.

“I’ll heat it up,” Mamá added, all businesslike. “Then you’re finally going to tell us what you’ve been up to all these years, hijo mío.”

It was all too much. It was like he’d never grown up. What strange scientific explanation could account for that feeling?

“All right.”

*

He didn’t tell them everything about Night Vale, because he wanted them to take him seriously.

Carlos _never_ worried about being taken seriously when he was home. It just wasn’t an issue. He was freer in Night Vale, he was safe in the knowledge that no matter what he said or did, it was no more bizarre than what everyone else was saying and doing.

In the presence of his parents, he forgot how to talk without thinking about what he was saying.

“My work is very...diverse. Rather than focusing on a single project, I divide my time between various interesting projects. Night Vale is _very_ accommodating when you want to find an object to study. There are new issues cropping up daily, and they always require a scientist to solve them.”

“So you work for the municipal government?” Vicente exclaimed, impressed.

“How much do they pay you?” Mamá said.

“Huh,” Carlos said, “payment. I never asked.”

They all stared at him. Everyone’s eyes were very wide. Carlos wished that they would stop doing that.

“So we all know that science is your one true love, your muse, your best friend forever, etc. But _I’m_ curious about your human friends.” This was from Teresa. Carlos couldn’t tell if she was teasing him or not, nor could he tell if she expected him to have friends.

He focused on his dinner for a moment. The stew was very hearty, and had a good flavor, but Carlos still preferred his own cooking.

Or Cecil’s.

“They exist. As much as anyone can be said to exist.”

“Any person in particular?” Teresa urged.

Why was she so insistent on this? Was she _trying_ to re-open the massive argument that had begun between Carlos and Mamá, seven years ago?

Really, the argument had been between Carlos and all of them. Mamá had just been the only one bold enough and intrusive enough to do what she’d done.

“What about _you_? I’d like to hear what is going on in your life.”

Teresa might have objected, but Vicente took the hint and launched into a description of his workplace, his co-workers (most of whom, reportedly, were assholes), his last few football games (he still played every other week, for fun), and his decision to take a vacation from work in order for a little _me_ time.

This prompted Teresa to laugh and say, “Relaxation is for other people. Let’s be real, neither of us are good at doing nothing.”

Neither was Carlos, but he stayed silent as Teresa began to describe the last few years of her life.

*

It emerged that neither Teresa nor Vicente had ever married. Nor were they currently in any significant relationships.

Trying not to talk about Cecil was like trying not to talk about science. It felt entirely wrong.

*

The conversation swung back around to Carlos in due time, and by this point he felt more prepared to answer their questions normally.

In fact, as he described it, Night Vale ceased to be such a peculiar place, and became quite ordinary.

The City Council was a group of responsible civic-minded human beings. The scientific anomalies were unexplainable only because he had not yet found the answer, not because they defied rational thought.

His thoughts seemed to change as well. The Cecil who fought to escape from Carlos’s mind became an ordinary radio show host, unlike other humans only because he was kind, and beautiful, and because Carlos loved him.

As Carlos carried on talking normally, his heart beat faster. He felt ill as he tried to recall Cecil’s strangeness, the fact of him being _more_ because Night Vale was _more_ . The knowledge felt far away, a distant hum. The more Carlos struggled to remind himself _why_ Cecil wasn’t normal in the way that outsiders defined normalcy, the more he was unable to remember what that reason was.

Cecil, it seemed, was only Carlos’s secret husband, and nothing more.

A kind of panic overtook him. Carlos slammed his hands down on the table. His father jumped, mouth opening in a non-verbal cry of surprise and anger.

“What are you doing?” Mamá asked. And Carlos recognized the tone. It, too, was from his childhood.

His parents’s anger no longer mattered.

He could still recall every day he’d spent with Cecil, and he felt the same amount of love and reverence towards those memories that he always did, but something was missing. Something important about Cecil. About his strangeness. And the thought of some part of Cecil being _gone_ terrified Carlos.

Why had even ever left Night Vale?

But why did it matter? You didn’t forget the basic nature of a place once you left it, you only forget superficial details. That was how memory worked.

Except he _was_ forgetting Night Vale’s basic nature. While he’d been telling his family about Night Vale, he’d been forgetting Night Vale.

He couldn’t let it go any further.

“I’m married.”

“ _What?_ ” Vicente choked. He coughed, and Dad slapped him on the back.

“What,” Teresa echoed, “the _hell_.”

“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph,” Mamá murmured.

“I’m married,” Carlos repeated.

Dad his calm finally gone, asked, “Were you ever planning on telling us?”

“No. What would have been the reason for that? It’s been seven years, Dad, Mamá, since either of you have looked into my eyes. I wasn’t going to tell you. I was going to pretend, just this once, because I wanted this evening to be nice. But the measure of niceness all depends on which set of rules you’re following, and one of the things that I tell my team of scientists is that they can’t assume that the rules mean anything, and one of the greatest aspects of science is that you learn to re-evaluate the world around you—”

He knew he was completely babbling at this point. Normally he wouldn’t be aware of that, because the other person would tolerate it, or if they were a scientist, nod in agreement, or if they were Cecil, smile indulgently. Because Cecil didn’t seem to care as long as Carlos was happy to speak.

“—and what I am trying to say is that I have a husband.”

No one moved. Perhaps no one breathed. Carlos swallowed, and the sound seemed magnified a thousandfold.

“I have a husband. His name is Cecil Palmer. I meant him my first week in Night Vale. We have been together for nearly four years, and we got married several months ago. I love him. He is the love of my life, insofar as science allows for...you know what, fuck it. He _is_ the love of my life.”

Mamá’s brows were bent over her eyes; she seemed to be trapped in a permanent scowl.

Dad looked cold and uninviting.

Vicente’s eyes were wet. He never cried. Carlos _distinctly_ remembered that Vicente made of point of never crying. The tears didn’t fall, but they were there.

Teresa seemed skeptical about the whole thing, but then, she’d never been one to believe that romantic love could last.

“And Night Vale isn’t an ordinary town. It is _as far from ordinary as it is possible to be_. Nothing makes sense in Night Vale, none of it! And I love that. My job is to study that chaos, and the people of the town respect me for that. They might not understand it, but they respect it. And I respect and love them for that.”

There was a long, pregnant pause. Carlos scanned the room desperately, not sure what response he was going to get. Dad opened his mouth to say something, but Vicente beat him to it. When he spoke, he spoke carefully, as if the subject was especially dangerous.

“So I bet that none of them ever locked you in a hospital because you weren’t acting right.”

Mamá sat straight up and cried, “VICENTE!”

He flinched. So did Carlos and Teresa. They were all in their late thirties and early forties, respectively, but that didn’t make Mamá’s voice any less frightening. “That was decades ago. _Why_ do you have to dredge that up again? What could it possibly have to do with what Carlos has just told us?”

She scowled at Carlos. “I wanted us to have a nice dinner too, Carlos. I wanted to reconnect. I hate that you keep acting like we’re the bad guys here. I’m your _mother_. Your dad and I spent 18 years raising you. We love you, and...and we’re trying to be more accepting.”

Dad didn’t say anything.

“I’m trying,” she amended. “Carlos, why couldn’t you try?”

This hit Carlos hard. He swallowed again and said, “I don’t see how we’re supposed to reconnect if we’re not allowed to talk about what happened in the past. Cecil taught me, recently—”

“I don’t care what that man taught you!” Dad shouted suddenly, and Teresa snarled,

“Shut up, shut _up,_ Dad. Mamá, Carlos is right, what are you even _trying_ to—”

Vicente muttered, “We never talked about him being put in psych when he was a kid, and Carlos, I always felt guilty—”

“—he taught me that denying the things that hurt you is just really, really unhelpful, and sometimes it destroys reality. Mamá, I am sorry for the worst of what I said to you, seven years ago, but what you did then was _not_ all right.”

“I was trying to protect you!” Mamá was the one who was crying now, and Carlos kind of hated himself for that, and he kind of hated her for it too.

_I need to leave. Tonight. I’m not like this. I don’t forget what makes Cecil irregular and special. I don’t hate people._

“I think,” Teresa said quietly, “I would like to know what Carlos and Mamá even said to each other, all those years ago.”

Finally, everyone fell silent again. Teresa was the only one who kept talking. “I had to hear about from Dad, how Carlos was suddenly gone, out of our lives, just like that. And you know what? It was awful, just how _little_ surprise I felt then. Why was that, huh?”

“I,” Mamá started to say, but Teresa spoke over her.

“I was only a kid when Carlos had that accident. I remember being furious. But it was kind of funny, in a way: how many girl’s little brothers blow up half their house because they’re experimenting with chemical reactions?

I also remember thinking, good God, why wasn’t anyone watching him? How did he get hold of something so dangerous?

And I think the answer was that none of us paid a lot of attention to Carlos, because he was weird. _Carlitos_ , you were a weird kid. And then you made the house explode, and mom and dad put you in a kiddie psychiatric hospital for a month. What were you, eight?”

“I had to talk to one of the counselors every week for the next year after that,” Carlos said quietly. “I liked her. She made me feel better about myself. I...I hated being away from all of you, during that month. I was so scared. But the counselors were good people.”

“Right. And after your accident, we still saw you as the weird kid, but now you were the dangerous weird kid. Mamá took away your test tubes and you pitched this awful fit. I was still angry with you, and even so, I could hardly stand to see it.”

“You practically lived in your fourth-grade science classroom after that,” Vicente added. “Whenever I went to pick you up from school, you’d be there, looking at something through a microscope or writing notes.”

Carlos hadn’t thought that any of this mattered to him, anymore. He hadn’t realized until this moment that his entire relationship with his parents had been shaped by that time in his life. He could see his mother realizing it, right then. She bit her lip and shook her head slowly.

His dad maybe, just possibly, looked a little ashamed.

“Well,” Carlos said magnanimously, “in all fairness, I blew up half of our house. That is an extremely irresponsible thing to do. Under the circumstances, punishment seems warranted. I had to learn.” He decided not to mention that his adult caution involved descending into pits with tiny civilizations who wanted to murder him.

“Yeah, fine. But you know what? I’ve had a long time to think it over, and I say we were all wrong in treating Carlos like there was something wrong with him because he was different in a way that we couldn’t understand.” Teresa spoke firmly, as if that settled the matter.

Mamá stared at Carlos, and Carlos stared at her. “Back to that lunch,” she said slowly.

“The one,” Carlos said evenly, “where I told you that I was joining a research team to explore newly discovered life forms in Alaska. And that I was dating one of the men on the team.”

Carlos shared a moment with his family then, as they all simultaneously pictured the day that a 17-year-old Carlos had told them he liked men, and only men.

That announcement had resulted in a lot of shouting. A lot of tears. Carlos recalled Teresa shaking her head and saying, “You just had to make things even harder on yourself, huh?”

He hadn’t understood that comment at the time. Or he had, but he didn’t think it was worth listening to.

Mamá sighed. “It sounded so dangerous. You had a teaching position. A chance at a normal life.”

“You didn’t like the fact that I was with a man. So you called in an anonymous tip, saying that I wasn’t fit for the job. And you told them about my entire psychiatric history. Except according to the project head, you made it sound even worse than it already was. You told the entire team, including my boyfriend, that I was a danger to myself and that I couldn’t be trusted.”

Teresa stood up. So did Vicente.

“I cannot _fucking_ believe you!” Teresa shouted at their mother.

“Ay dios mío, how could you even?” Vicente gasped.

“And then I called you,” Carlos’s voice was rapidly becoming less steady, “and I said terrible, ugly things. You told me that if I felt that way, then there was no need for show my ungrateful face to you ever again. And I said, ‘fine. Okay. I wouldn’t want to.’”

Mamá could no longer look at any of her children.

“I get that you thought you were doing good. But it wasn’t your place to try to stop me from living the life that I wanted.” Carlos got to his feet. “I think it might be a good idea if I left now.”

“Wait,” Mamá  cried. She stood up as well. “I don’t want to leave things like this.”

Carlos’s chest ached. “I don’t want to be constantly fighting with you, but I can’t be what you want me to be. I have a life outside of that. I’m _happy_ with my life.” He began to leave the room. “It’d be nice if you could be happy for me,” he whispered.

*

Nobody stopped him as he made his way to the front door, buttoning up his lab coat as he went. He was surprised nobody had commented on the fact that he was wearing a lab coat.

“Carlos,” Teresa called. He turned, and she came running out of the dining room, shaking her head. “You can’t just leave like that.”

He ran over his memories of Night Vale in his mind. They felt fuzzy and indistinct. They felt far way. This was real life, right now. Everything else was a dream.

No, no it wasn’t.

“I need to go home, Teresa.”

“Fine, but if you hadn’t noticed, I just stuck up for you in there. Now, what? You’re just gonna leave, _again_ , and I’m going to have to fix things? That is _not fair_ to me, Carlos. Or to Vicente.” She moved so that she was directly in front of him, staring directly into his eyes. Carlos was struck anew by how tall she was. “Ever think that maybe I wanted to have a relationship with you? That I don’t really care anymore what you like to do or who you do it with? I’ve changed. I’m willing to bend over backwards for you. I’m not asking you to forgive our parents. But come on, just give me a chance.”

He felt as if this was the first time that he’d seen her. She was gritting her teeth. She spoke in an angry voice, but her lips trembled. “Damn it,” she mumbled, and reached out a hand to rub her eyes.

Carlos was struck suddenly by how much they looked alike. He and Teresa were both tall and lanky. They had clear brown skin, dark curls that went all over the place, large hands and square jaws. To gaze at Teresa was to remember the DNA that they shared, and the years spent together as a result of that DNA connection, and the fact that he’d once looked up to her, and that he still cared for her, because of their kinship _and_ in spite of it.

He said, “I really did not know why I chose to come here. It was just a feeling. A hunch? Hunches tend to be more scientific, but perhaps that’s not the best term for this situation. A feeling. I missed you, and Vicente. I even missed Mamá and Dad. I could have gone on missing you, and stayed safe where I was, but I decided to come here...to give _all_ of you a chance, I suppose.”

He noticed that Vicente had walked out of the dining room and was standing silently behind Teresa. His hair was straighter than theirs, his frame stockier, but all of the siblings had the same big eyes and prominent noses and determined mouths.

“And you’re right. You did stand up for me. Both of you. I wasn’t expecting it, and I did not ask for it, but you did it anyway.” Carlos felt different. He felt _real_ , and valid, for the first time since he’d arrived at his parent’s house. He’d come here anticipating that his parents would disappoint him, and they had, only because they remained much the same as they had always been. Developmentally, scientifically, emotionally, a lack of change is a disappointment.

But Teresa and Vicente were in a class by themselves.

“I still would like to leave tonight, if that’s okay,” Carlos begun hesitantly. “I’ll talk to Mamá and Dad, one more time, so as not to leave the both of you to deal with the mess that I’ve created. And then, maybe...I could get your numbers? And your email addresses? And we could keep in touch?”

Teresa broke into a hesitant smile. “That’d be nice.”

“It would be,” Vicente agreed. “I would like to be able to talk to you, every once in a while. Or if you wanted to meet up for a lunch one day.” He took a moment, and then added, “You could bring your husband, if you want. God, I can’t believe you’re _married_. But, um, you should feel comfortable, bringing him to meet me.”

Carlos thought he might start to cry. He could barely speak for a moment, and when he did, it came out hurried and shaky. “Yes. You both should meet Cecil.”

“First time I’m even hearing this guy’s name,” Teresa laughed quietly. “Yeah. I’m sorry we were never here for you in the past, but I think I can speak for both Vicente and myself when I say that we’re on your side now, _Carlitos_.”

“Thank you,” Carlos choked out. He looked down at the floor, unaccustomed to getting so emotional in front of someone other than Cecil.

“And seriously,” Vicente said to Teresa, “you’ve got stop calling him that. He’s in his thirties.”

“It’s an _affectionate_ nickname.”

“I don’t mind,” Carlos interjected.

Vicente gave him a pitying look. “If you don’t correct her now, she’ll never stop.”

*

His parents were still sitting exactly where he’d left them. Dad was very still and didn’t say anything, which was, from what Carlos remembered, typical for him. Dad wasn’t good with feelings. If he did express an emotion, it would explode from him and then he would act like that had never happened and go back to being his calm self.

Mamá was staring straight ahead. She was crying, in small hitching sobs. Carlos felt bad for her.

“....I’m sorry,” she said, addressing the back wall. “I truly am sorry that I can’t be the mother you seem to need. Or that you can’t be the son that I need.”

Carlos wanted to say, _well, maybe we can meet each other halfway._ Or, _fine, you’re not perfect or even a good person all of the time, but you did raise me, which should mean something. I’m not sure what, but I do know that it makes it difficult to give up on you entirely._

He couldn’t bring himself to mention compromise, though, because he wasn’t going to compromise. _I should not have to pretend to be someone that I’m not so the people who love me can feel more comfortable._

He also didn’t say the other thing, because it sounded harsh and it implied a commitment to their relationship that he didn’t really want to make.

What Carlos said was, “thank you, Mamá, for that. I’m going to go. Don’t be angry with Teresa or Vicente, okay? This entire disaster was my fault, for being here.”

Vicente, who was apparently listening outside the door, called out: “I wouldn’t say that—”

“I would,” Carlos said.

Dad told him, “Just because I truly don’t approve of how you’re living your life, and because I think you’re being childish, and selfish, doesn’t mean that I don’t love you.”

“Oh,” Carlos said. “Wow. Thanks, Dad. The same goes for you. That includes the childish part. Thank you.”

He turned to his mother. “Are you going to email me again?”

“Do you want me to?”

Carlos considered that. “Yes. It might be nice. I’m glad you care, Mamá, and I would like to keep talking to you, but it might be better if we don’t speak face-to-face for a while.” _Or, you know, ever._ The written word, Carlos felt, was about as close as he could stand to be to her.

She nodded. He couldn’t help noticing how relieved she looked. “That sounds good. Carlos...I’m not sorry you came. And at the same time, I wish you hadn’t. This was hard, but maybe it will work out for the better.”

_Scientifically speaking, it could go either way._

“Yeah. Goodbye, Mamá.”

“Wait.” She motioned towards the pot of leftover stew. “Let me give you something to eat. For the road.”

“Okay. Thank you.”

*

He felt so much better once he was back on the road. This lasted approximately twenty-one minutes, until Carlos remembered that he hated the highway.

There was also the issue of returning to Night Vale. The terrifying thing was, Carlos couldn’t recall the exact way that he’d left there in the first place. He had a map, but every time he glanced at it, the words blurred and he developed a pounding headache.

_What it—”_

_Shut up. I’m a scientist. I don’t deal in “what ifs.”_

_What if Night Vale isn’t going to let me return?_

Carlos had no idea how sentient the city itself was, but it certainly seemed possible that it could choose who to admit into its (metaphorical) walls.

_If I have been trapped outside of Night Vale_ again _, just so I could endure all of that pain with my family…._

Carlos forgot about trying to take samples along the road. That no longer mattered. Instead, he focused on two things:

  1. Driving fast.
  2. Picturing Cecil. And the rest of Night Vale, including his laboratory. But mostly Cecil.



He stopped once to use the restroom, and when he was done, he sat and skimmed through one of his journals. The images were all there (badly lit photographs taken on his phone, different photographs that would have been decent if they hadn’t have been censored by the Sheriff’s Secret Police, rough sketches of various Night Vale phenomena).

The descriptions were all there. Carlos read about the events of the past few months: the splitting of realities, the missing sky, the legalization of the existence of angels, and the surprising, though long overdue, reconciliation between Cecil and Steve.

The frightening thing was how detached he felt from those events. Carlos knew he cared, or had cared, very much, at the time. But looking over them now was like trying to read a scientific journal that didn’t particularly interest him. Which wasn’t something that happened very often, but once in a while, Carlos would pick up some article on cabbage fertilization, and think _I am certain this is important to lot of people. It just isn’t significant to me._

Night Vale was falling away from him. Meanwhile, the figures of his mother, his father, his sister, and his brother, kept flashing over and over again. It was as if this world was replacing the other one, conquering and infecting Carlos’s brain.

He started driving again, ignoring the wave of nausea and the pain behind his eyes.

 *

Other cars honked their horns at him. At one point, he was pulled over for driving too fast.

“I’ve already resolved never to do this again, so there is no need to re-educate me,” he said to the police officer who had pulled him over.

“What the hell?” the officer said.

Carlos was let off with a warning.

*

He gasped, or perhaps sobbed in relief when he caught sight of the first few buildings in Night Vale.

Now that he knew for a fact that he was home, that he would see Cecil soon, and his team of scientists after that, Carlos allowed himself to relax. He allowed himself to start processing what had happened between him and his family. He allowed himself to think, _now I have more evidence of how Night Vale is erased by the outside world, or, looking at it from a different angle, how the outside world is erased in Night Vale. That’s mildly terrifying from the viewpoint of a logician, and also from the viewpoint of a person who would like to believe that they mean something in an indifferent universe. But hey,_ maybe _this will lead me to discover a whole new kind of meaning! That’s a pretty cool idea._

_Yeah, science-wise, I suppose the trip was worth it._

*

“Ceec?” he called into the darkened apartment. It was well past midnight, so Cecil should be home. It was possible that he was asleep.

Carlos took off his shoes, and put them by the door. He took off his lab coat (he always felt a little naked without it) and put it on a hanger. He moved through the darkened kitchen. It was odd to think about where he’d been several hours ago. In a different reality. For all intents and purposes, a different time and a different self.

He hadn’t told Cecil this, but a few months ago, when multiple universes had collided with Night Vale, creating conflicting timelines and paradoxes, Carlos had fallen into a reality where he had never heard of Night Vale. Worse, in this new timeline, Carlos had never followed his dream of becoming a scientist. Instead, he had gone to more therapy, learned to socialize better, and had gotten a job as a chef in a small Italian restaurant two towns over from where he’d grown up.

Cooking was fun, but following recipes was dull. Carlos found himself getting caught up in repetitive loops: get up, get dressed, go to work, make the same meals for the same people, leave work, go home, read the latest issue of whatever magazine in whatever field of science he was working his way through, watch television, go to sleep.

By the point in which Carlos had found himself, this alternate version of him was in the midst of genuine depression. He knew that following another path in life was the only thing that would bring him happiness, but he was too jaded and too cautious to do so.

Carlos’s house in that timeline had been nice, but it was so empty. In that reality, there was only Carlos the assistant chef. He didn’t date often, and when he did, it never led to anything.

*

“Hi,” Carlos murmured now, to a Cecil who was curled up in bed, but hadn’t turned the lights off just yet.

“Hey, bunny. How’d it go?” In response, Carlos got in beside him and hugged him close. Cecil made a surprised noise, and Carlos put his head on Cecil’s shoulder.

“Are you okay?” Cecil asked, a note of real worry in his (beautiful, _perfect_ ) voice. Carlos made a noise in the back of his throat that indicated his unwillingness to share just yet, and nuzzled Cecil’s neck. Cecil lightly brushed his hand through Carlos’s hair, and said, “Want to lie down?”

“Yeah.” They both lay back on the bed, still in each other’s arms. Carlos leaned back enough that he could get a good glimpse of Cecil. His husband was flushed and his tattoos swirled, and his eyes were human, but they were more than they should have been: they reflected an entire desert, a tranquil wasteland, swirling sand and a yawning sky.  

In Carlos’s mind, Cecil snapped back into perfect focus. No longer the half-remembered spouse, made normal by the land outside of Night Vale, Cecil was himself again.

He was, and always had been, the embodiment of what was strange and shouldn’t be, but what was beautiful _because_ of its improbability. Night Vale itself was the same way.

Carlos thought of his parents, how much they would mistrust all of this (he imagined himself gesturing at the space around him, saying loudly, “all of _this”_ ), and he felt a rush of gratitude that he wasn’t, after all, anything like his family.

“So,” Cecil said quietly, “what would make you happiest? We can talk now, or we can sleep—” he propped himself up with one hand, “—or we could _not_ sleep…” He tried to smile seductively, but the effect was somewhat ruined by his eyes closing involuntarily with exhaustion. The yawning didn’t help either.

“Thanks, honey-voiced honey, but you need to get some rest. Scientifically speaking, sleep is a necessary precursor to most other activities. Sex, talking, and not dying are only a few examples. Don’t let me keep you up.”

“Okay.” Cecil rolled over onto his other side, and Carlos snuggled into him. “But…” Cecil yawned again, and continued, “... _are_ you okay?”

Carlos always loved Cecil, every day, but it was a constant thing, something that he could lose himself in and then forget about. Like breathing.

At this moment, he felt the full depth of his love for Cecil.

“Yes, of course I am okay. The probability of me not being okay _right now_ is about zero.

“Earlier, I got into another fight with Mamá, and I am still trying to figure out if I’m satisfied with where we left things. I learned that my sister and my brother care about me more than I thought they did, and that I care about them.”

Carlos wasn’t sure if he sounded clear or not. “It was a difficult evening, but I think that I gained something from it. I mean, something beyond new scientific data, which is usually enough in and of itself. I might have a shot at being friends with my siblings. It won’t erase the past, as much as the past exists as an immaterial presence to be remembered or erased, but it might lead to something better than what was between us before.”

“That’s wonderful. I am so…” another yawn, though he tried valiantly to stifle this one, “glad for you. Truly, Carlos. And, when we are both more conscious, you are welcome to tell me more.”

Carlos turned off the light, and said, “I’ll tell you in the morning.”

“Goodnight. I love you.”

“Goodnight. I love you too.”

 


End file.
